


gods & monsters interlude

by loli-ta (rueherdays)



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: Cousin Incest, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Het, Morally Ambiguous Character, POV Cassandra Pressman, POV Second Person, Rare Pairings, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26041624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueherdays/pseuds/loli-ta
Summary: "You match Campbell’s depravity in the soul, if not appearances."Cassandra wants Campbell ruined, and he just wants.
Relationships: Campbell Eliot/Cassandra Pressman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	gods & monsters interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so apparently The Society is cancelled. This is the first time I've written in a while. I wrote this back in May 2020 - stopped midway through, and haven't touched it since. I did some light editing, wrote the last 500 words, and decided to go ahead and post it. Don't hesitate to let me know any grammar mistakes, I didn't get a second pair of eyes to beta read it.  
> Cassbell is an odd guilty pleasure and I have many little fics collecting dust in my docs. I hope y'all enjoy it, much love to the fandom!!! <3

Campbell Eliot is a different breed of human. 

That’s a confusing belief, one you hold close to your chest like a secret. Your estranged cousin, he’s a hybrid that fascinates you to figure out, that causes fear when he deviates from understanding. There are few things you fear - Death is inevitable, it has no hold over your emotions, but a boy playing God, filling your doorway with his presence, causes your heart to pound.

He’s a dark shadow in your doorway - a caged wildness in his eyes, the slope of his shoulders tense, damp. Perhaps he thinks there’s a weakness to be found in you, alone in bed, surrounded by four walls, but the resilient woman he saw walking from church, the true God at your backs, it’s solid in your spine. Your gaze is that of match-head, ready to ignite, sensing the bewilderment in  _ him _ . Were you, not the one he expected to find?

“ _ Are you not intimidated?” _ , his posture says.

_ No _ , you want to respond. Not now, when you can see through him ( a pitiful boy, he is ), see the insanity he can’t ever hope to control. That’s what Campbell wants, is it not? Control over you, over this situation, over the town and everyone in it. You’ll never give him that, not while he appears so unleashed, uncontrolled. 

He approaches, not with the stagger that you’d expect. He’s steady, stopping at the foot of the bed, holding your gaze - he looks sure of himself. It’s misguided faith, you want to tell him, that he may not get what he wants from you. You want to tell him that playing herder to lost lambs has given you more self-confidence than he may appreciate. That you’re not Elle ( he’s not subtle with his manipulations ). It’d take much more for you to break down, a pressure that your psyche can take, but not your heart - does he want a corpse?

Perhaps, the set of his lips is thin and smirking, sweat visible on him. So much stress to be found in the subtle things. He won’t move, won’t take what he came here for. 

_ “Are you worried?” _ , your false smile responds.

Does it piss him off to want you? It would take so little, he’d snap and nobody would blame you. If they found out, your closest confidants would assume the worst, that it was nonconsensual, that you were forced. It’s cruel to approach him on those grounds, you know that, but the desire to rattle him, for him to know that  _ you know _ \- he wants you and you’re not serious about a damn thing. He can fake emotion all he wants, but you got under his skin, the bitch Cassandra.

Campbell’s hands clench the footboard, his body hunched over it as he laughs. He refuses to meet your eyes, the weak bastard with so much gall. You’re close, chest pressed against his arm, a warmth that’s always drove the best of men crazy, gaze searching his sharp features. 

“Did you come here to say nothing? To bother me?” Your voice is oddly bright for the situation. The tone you’d take with a joke. He could fall at the slightest touch, and all you want to do is mock him. Grin at his moment of weakness, he’s too smart for this. To come into your space, your house, and show such blatant desire. What a sad internal struggle. “Do you need help?”

“Shut up,  _ shut the fuck up _ ,” he responds, snarls, turns with a quickness that you couldn’t hope to match, and grabs your throat. 

His hands are cold and damp, the floor hard as your skull knocks it, his lips are hot though. Bruising and hard, all sounds are swallowed into him, giving him power and confidence. Hesitance? A forgotten concept, she’s pinned by male testosterone and a boy who was too emboldened by it. Who put such care into all his interactions yet bypassed human concern. Your mouth is agape, trying to suck air and getting tongue instead. A gross slide that makes  _ him _ grin - he earned it, did he not? He has you downed - rutting liking a dog, sharing intimacy that was entirely inappropriate, yet wanted. Will he fuck you like a man?

_ “Poor savage thing,”  _ your bias says.

It’s a fair thought, perhaps he would’ve always wanted to fuck you and the hands around your throat ( squeezing too hard, they’ll leave bruises and your concealer is running low ) were caused by mocking coyness. You could have him destroyed after this, you’re sure. The evidence he leaves is imprinted on you now, something you’ll laugh about later.

He tastes like frustration and liquor, smells of chemicals, and sweat. You press your hips into his thigh, eyes going hazy from the lack of oxygen and the heat pooling between your legs. The pressure lifts, little by little, and your open mouth finally pushes back. Kissing your cousin with a fervor you denied your first time, biting hard into the flesh of his lip. Your sudden thirst isn’t fed until you taste blood.

A piece of him. He can’t say you don’t know the real boy hiding beneath the power he demands.

Campbell gives a groan, moving his grip from your throat to grab a breast, a possessive hold. His mouth looks like jaws in the dim light, his nails like claws when he strikes you open-handed across the face.

Is this where his true desires lie? In the pain of his partner, the terror? Only hardness meets you when your hips lift this time, crotch to crotch, he rubs, humps like the beast he is. You don’t fight the moan that leaves you, unashamed of the pleasure you feel, wanting him to remember how he made you feel when his demise arrives. 

He shifts onto his knees, unbuttons your jeans with an urgency, yanks them down your thighs. When his fingers feel the wetness beneath your panties, you chew on already aching lips, half-lidded eyes on his face, (  _ look up, look up, look up. Are you proud how horny you’ve made your cousin feel? What a man.  _ ) it stays downturned. He’s too focused on the circles he’s making on your clit, the growing dampness of your cunt. 

It’s a warmth that only builds and grows, maybe he spends hours making you moan, applying skillfully rubbing one out for you - an orgasm you shouldn’t have. It only makes you prouder, nobody wants to follow the rules of someone who won’t make the tough calls. This was one of those calls. 

You’re going to hump this boy’s hand, cum all over it, shamelessly, then damn him by riding his cock. 

Allie wouldn’t agree, she wouldn’t understand, could she stand to love you if she knew the truth of this encounter?

You match Campbell’s depravity in the soul, if not appearances. 

God would put you two in the list of the FAR GONE. Covering your applications in red ink, perhaps yours would be short. To foreign eyes, this would be the first time you’ve fallen short of perfection. 

His touch then moves to your folds, to the obscene evidence of your need, and suddenly you’re full. You’re his in a way that makes no sense to you, being felt this intimately takes your breath. 

Campbell presses his mouth to the exposed skin of your stomach, breathing heavily, drinking in the wet sound of his fingers pumping in and out. He touches you where only one other person had been, claiming you despite your impurity. It’s like a dam breaking, your release, triggered by the intense press of his thumb on your clit. You moan and spasm, this sharp pleasure, it feels like you’re being used, played with. It’s an unwelcome feeling in the calm waves that want you to relax. 

Campbell leaves an emptiness in the most vulnerable moments. 

You don’t resist him when he strips you further, reveals your modest breasts to the room, pulls your panties down to your ankles, lets you feel the chill where you’re still  _ soaking _ . How’d he make you feel like this? Fall like this?

When he unbuckles his jeans you can feel the first beginnings of regret, of uncertainty. 

“ _ Campbell _ ,” you say it like a prayer -  _ have mercy, cousin, please  _ \- what mercy can the senseless spare? You no longer want to look in his eyes, not whilst being taken on the floor like a whore. He won’t be gentle, it’s foolish to pretend otherwise.

His cock is hard - for you, it’s an arousing thing, the control you have over him. He may be barren of emotional intimacy, he’ll never understand what it’s like to  _ love  _ as you do, but he’ll  _ want _ . He’ll want so strongly that all he’ll do is take. Campbell is a hazard, one you couldn’t wait to fuck.

Your cousin’s grip is harsh, bruising as he hauls you into his lap, leans against the footboard. He’s erect beneath you, sliding against your pussy. “Now,” his voice is rough like his hands, forcing your hips down onto an unrelenting cock. An invasion, an act that won’t be forgotten. God won’t be kind - you can’t help the breathless moan that leaves you. This is what you wanted. 

“Yes.” Your whisper is quiet, silent against the wet sounds of your sin, the pounding of his hips. His expression is calm and face is flushed - a human reaction, he’s real and breathing and  _ living  _ beneath you, but it feels like you’re fucking a monster. You never understand how your vision of him morphs when witnessing this. Campbell’s teeth flash in the dim lighting, he’s smirking, you helplessly clench in response.

Your breasts rub against his clothed chest, a shiver overcoming your sweaty, nude body. Every time you push into his thrusts, his cock twitches, over and over, your pussy lips ache in the most pleasant way. This is a high you don’t want to come off of, even as the addictive fucking is chased by another orgasm.

“Go ahead,” he says. “I wasn’t gonna ask,” you snarl back, more savage than him at that moment. Empowered and humiliated by the rutting, the way his mouth opens wider - exposing those awful canines, perfect for biting through the skin - the closer his orgasm approaches. His balls are drawing up, claws digging where they moved to your ass. 

His climax is loud, hot, and messy. It’s not something you should’ve ever known about him, you’re proud. He slams you down, grinds hard to fill you with his sex. His cum is endless and warm, evidence of your immortality. Should you relish this? Or should you question your dignity, wonder if this tarnishes your womanhood? 

There’s pressure on your sensitive clit, exploring fingers around your full entrance. You jerk and whine as he rubs again, pushes a finger in beside his cock.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” you curse, blasphemous and ironic. Tears prick your eyes, leaning into the touch sends pleasure everywhere, makes it overwhelming so quickly that you almost beg for a quick release. 

Perhaps Campbell’s a reasonable monster, as he doesn’t tease, doesn’t draw anything out. He fingers your overfull cunt, rubs until you’re squirming through another orgasm because of his hands. You see blazes, not stars - you feel an inferno instead of warmth. 

The afterglow is like sanity setting back in, every muscle cramping as you climb off his soaked lap. The beginning of his end leaves a bad taste in your mouth, is the sight of a nude body shaking from the strain of its activities, milky white visible between its thighs. 

  
  
  


Cassandra doesn’t watch Campbell buckle his jeans, right his jacket, and grin at her. She appears apathetic to it all, eyeing the part in her curtains. It allows only a sliver of light in, shows that it’s still pouring, as it was when Campbell arrived. 

“Gordie shouldn’t find you in here.” She sighs, annoyance in every word.

“Or what? You got a guard dog now, Cassandra?” He challenges.

“As close to one as I’ll ever need.” She scowls.

Campbell departs, smug as an uncaught criminal, leaving the room tainted and her paralyzed with the weight of her actions.

Cassandra’s phone urgently vibrates on the bed.


End file.
